Something Wrong With Merlin
by tarsus4survivor
Summary: When a quick-to-anger noble comes to Camelot, Merlin makes it his job to keep the other servants from being abused by serving the noble himself, but when Arthur and the knights notice that Merlin is acting strangely they decide to keep a closer eye on their friend. It doesn't take long for them to realize something is horribly wrong.
1. Chapter 1

Gwen notices first. It's his smile. Merlin's smile. He's grinning, but his eyes are pinched. In pain or fear or sorrow, and Gwen's fingers start to slow as she sews. "You all right, Merlin?"

"Just tired," he tells her, and Merlin forcibly brightens his smile, lifting his eyes.

She nods, but something feels off. "Alright."

* * *

Percival notices next. He's in the market, looking for… he's forgotten, actually. All he knows is Merlin, tilting away from a brutish-looking man. Curling his shoulders and fingers and eyes and—he looks terrified.

Percival's never seen Merlin scared. Not once. Not when a gang of bandits cascaded out of the woods or Morganna appeared with an army at her beckoning or a dragon swooped down in a wall of flames. Merlin doesn't scare. Which is why Percival's fingers curl around the hilt of his sword as he barrels closer.

The man slips into the crowd before just before he arrives, and Percival stops beside Merlin. "You alright?" he asks.

Merlin startles, skittering to the side and his head turning up, hands raised in defense. Then he sees Percival's concerned face and he stops, arms dropping, his body shuddering with breath. "Oh. It's you."

Percival can't seem to let go of his sword because if Merlin is scared than he sure as hell is too. "Are you alright, Merlin? Who was that?"

Merlin contorts his face trying to look confused. He fails miserably, the fear still obvious in his eyes and mouth. "Who was who?"

Percival feels something cold slither down his back at the response. "That man."

"Oh." Merlin gives a half-hearted shrug, but it looks more like a shiver. "Nobody. Just wanted directions."

"Are you sure you're alright?"

"Yeah," says Merlin, and he makes some excuse about fetching things for Gaius and runs off.

* * *

Then Leon notices. Merlin is… skittery. He's cleaning Arthur's chest-plate in the armory, growing smaller with every scrape of sound. Leon sets his sword into its stand with a clang and Merlin jumps so violently he falls. Hard. Limbs knocking into the solid floor, smacking into the table legs.

"You alright, Merlin?" Leon goes to give him a hand up and Merlin shies away like a nervous horse, standing at a slant—tilted away from Leon. He lets out a shuddery little sound, possibly "Fine", as he walks around until the table is between them, straightening.

Leon's eyes pinch. He scrutinizes Merlin, gaze catching on his arm. "You're holding your arm strangely. Did you hurt it in the fall?" He breaks forward half a step, "Let's take you to Gauis."

Merlin shakes his head. He jolts back at Leon's approach and clutches his arm closer, fingers splayed like he's afraid to move them. "I'm fine. Thank you, Leon."

Leon goes back to the opposite side of the table and sits, working his muddy boots off. "The patrol today was rather eventful, did I tell you? Gwaine's horse, Gary, threw a shoe and Gwaine had to…." He keeps talking and watches in his peripheral as Merlin slowly relaxes. He starts cleaning Arthur's armor again, wincing with every scrape.

"And Gwaine shouted, 'I was almost killed with a fishing rod once!'"

Merlin lets out a soft little laugh. "He tell you who almost killed him?" he asks, voice smaller than normal.

Leon looks up at him and shakes his head, mouth quirking into a smile. "No, actually he didn't mention it."

Merlin's smile brighten just a little. He gestures to himself.

Leon grins. "You?!" he asks, half-laughing. "What happened?"

And Merlin tells him.

And when Leon leaves, he's a little less skittery.

It's back in full force at dinner, Merlin shifting anxiously behind Arthur. Leon doesn't like it.

* * *

Arthur notices because Merlin affects absolutely everything, and even the air is slowly growing unsettled. He's noticed the lingering looks of the other knights and turned to look himself and something isn't quite right.

Merlin is walking strangely today. Small, slow steps when he usually has the broadest of strides. Merlin is composed entirely of gangly limbs and neckerchiefs and he's reigning his limbs in so that he's naught more than a sliver of space. He's walking so strangely, in fact, that Arthur can't help but notice. It's almost like he's trying to hide a limp.

Arthur walks beside him, but it's the slowest walk to the training field he's had in a decade. His head slips down to watch Merlin's boots. To watch the pace of them, because he's not quite sure which leg the servant is favoring. The steps are uneven only barely. His left. He's favoring his left.

The scrutiny unsettles Merlin, who scuttles forward faster and almost drops to one knee when his leg won't support the longer stride. He scrambles back straight and half-turns, shoulders curling, hands raised, "What are you doing?"

Arthur looks at his face. He's panicked, Arthur realizes, and can't stop the worry that settles in his gut. Merlin never panics, not really. But it's written in the bobbing of his throat and the flick of his eyes from Arthur's hands to his feet to his eyes and back. He's putting distance between them, making sure not to turn his back and to keep his arms up to shield himself. It's purely defensive. And full of fear. It's wrong. "What happened to your leg?" he asks.

Merlin's panic grows. He gives a full body shudder and jerks backward. "Nothing. It's fine. Slept funny."

"Did you see Gaius?"

"Course."

"So if I talk to Gaius, he'll tell me you saw him and there's nothing wrong with it?"

Merlin won't even look at him now. Someone walks past and he flinches bodily. "It's fine," he says.

Arthur tilts his head. "Are you alright, Merlin?"

Merlin straightens. Brightens. Normals. So fast it gives Arthur whiplash. "Yeah."

"Are you hurt?" he asks, and Merlin's eyes pop up to meet Arthur's.

"What?"

"Are you hurt?"

"I… I just said I'm alright. I…" Merlin's head spins around. What or who he's looking for, Arthur doesn't know.

"It's a simple yes or no question."

"I…" Merlin looks confused. It's a different question and he's forced to think about it. It's also more direct, and hopefully Merlin has some qualms about giving an outright lie. Arthur already knows the answer is yes. He's just waiting for Merlin to acknowledge it. Hoping that he will and they can deal with it together.

"Arthur," says Merlin.

"Yeah?"

"I… If… What kind of… treatment of servants is permitted? Like if I…" Merlin is having a terrible time finding the words. Arthur just waits, face open, hoping this isn't leading where he thinks it's leading. "I mean they can't… shouldn't… how are servants supposed to be… treated…" Arthur suspects that's not the word he really means, "when they screw up?"

Arthur wants to answer the question directly. Means to, actually, but when he opens his mouth, his tongue is too closely linked to the scary conclusions he's jumping to, "Has someone hurt you? A knight or a lord or a master of house?"

Merlin squints his eyes. He shakes his head. "Nevermind," he says, "it's nothing." He turns. Turns his back to Arthur and starts walking again. Arthur grabs his arm and stops him, ignoring the jump. "Merlin, no one should be doing anything worse than a few hours in the stocks. And definitely not to you, because you're my servant and I'm the only one allowed to reprimand you. They shouldn't be giving you any work or punishments at all unless it goes through me and nothing has. Merlin, tell me what this is about, you're scaring me."

Merlin won't look at him. "Forget about it, Arthur. It's nothing." Merlin pulls from his grip and walks on.

Arthur blocks him. "No. _You_ are not nothing. The other servants are not nothing, and I will not stand for anyone to be unfairly treated. It's unacceptable in my court, and I need you to tell me what's going on right now so that I can put a stop to it, because you and the other servants are my responsibility."

"Forget it, Arthur, I don't know why I said anything."

"Merlin." Two eyes flick up. "You never answered me. Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine," Merlin says.

Arthur shakes his head and blocks him when he starts forward again. "It's 'yes' or 'no'. Are you hurt?"

"I have to go, Arthur."

"We're headed to training together. There's not much you can do there without me. Look at me, Merlin. Please. I need you to answer this."

It's the please, Arthur thinks, that has Merlin stop and still, that has him breathing out, "Yes."

"Thank you." Arthur looks at Merlin. "I think we'll skip training today. What do you say we go for a ride instead? You gather up some knights and ready the horses and we'll make a day of it."

Merlin sighs, but he turns and walks slowly away and Arthur assumes that means he's going to do as asked.

* * *

It's Percival, Leon, and Elyan that Merlin gathers, and Arthur is surprised only by the lack of a certain rogue. "No Gwaine?"

"Couldn't find him," says Merlin, leading Arthur's charge and his own mare from the stables.

He mounts well enough, considering his leg is injured.

In the end, the ride is not as fruitful as Arthur had hoped it would be.


	2. Chapter 2

The servants are not as blind or passive as Merlin thinks them to be.

Mary is in charge of the kitchens, stout and sharp and not to be crossed. Merlin comes in to fetch the king's breakfast and Mary thinks nothing of it. She barely notices. But a quarter-hour later there's his voice, bright and deep behind her.

"I need a tray for Lord Osric, Susie," Merlin is saying.

Susie has a quiet voice. Strong but quiet. She's the type of person to keep stock of everything around her, to know exactly what everyone is meant to be doing-at least so far as it pertains to her and how she's supposed to keep things prepared. "I thought George was serving him."

Mary turns with a frown, forgetting for a moment the pot she's taken over stirring-Agatha was called away to help with the laundry and it's part of Mary's job to help compensate.

Merlin is standing by Susie as Susie scrubs dishes. He grins. "Not today. I'm taking over."

"Oh," says Susie, eyebrows pinching. She chews on that for a moment before she relaxes, "Of course, he's probably eating with the king today; reviewing the grain shipment from Darethford."

Merlin's lips purse-frozen in an almost-smile. "Not exactly. But I am meant to fetch him breakfast, so if you could take a moment and clean a tray, I'd be grateful. I think the cleaning crew commandeered the last of them, something about a new display in the great hall."

Susie's smile falls, but she nods. "Of course, Merlin. Just give me a moment." She pulls her hands from the soapy water and reaches up into the pile of dishes beside her.

Mary turns back to her pot.

She almost forgets all about it. Until Merlin comes back at lunchtime. "Have you moved the trays, Susie?"

Susie jumps a little at his voice. "What? Oh, no, I haven't gotten to them yet. Give me a moment, I'll clean one for you."

"I need two," says Merlin.

Susie frowns. "Merlin, it's George who's meant to be helping Lord Osric."

"He's helping with Sir Ethan-took a nasty fall, you know, bed-ridden."

"Merlin," Susie says softly.

Merlin shrugs her off. "Well it's not as though I don't have the time; King Prat is going to be busy with taxes and shipments all week, and Lord Osric is only supposed to be here for one week. Might as well help while I can."

Susie nods, still frowning. "Alright."

But when Merlin comes for the dinner trays, he's missing his usual grin. He finds it when he ducks down into one of the cupboards. "Finally got caught up on trays, Susie?"

"Couldn't have you pestering me again, interrupting me at my job-makes things take twice as long, you know."

Merlin chuckles and hurriedly loads items onto the trays. "That was the idea. Wouldn't want you to get bored finishing early and having nothing to do." His smile falls again as he finishes loading and he starts toward the door, steps a little heavier than usual. "I'll see you when I bring these back, Susie," he says, and his voice has lost its cheer. "Try not to let Mary and George bother you too much."

Merlin is back much too quickly, one of the trays in his hands, a shirt sleeve damp from what looks and smells like wine-it's stained the shirt from shoulder to wrist. Merlin quirks a smile and it fails miserably. "Any meat besides venison, Mary? I'm afraid Lord Osric didn't find it quite to his liking."

"There's lamb," Mary points out. Normally, she'd make a comment about clumsiness, ask him if he dropped the food and wine on the way. She gets the feeling he didn't, gets the feeling he's not in the mood for it.

"Perfect." Merlin loads up the tray again-the entire tray, grabbing far more than just lamb, and his face looks so much darker without a smile stretched from ear to ear.

"You need anything else, Merlin? Maybe Lord Osric would like dessert?"

Merlin brightens. "I think that's a wonderful idea, thank you Mary. Where is it?"

"Apple pie," she says, gesturing to a far table "Just there. Maybe take him two slices. I'll let it slide just this once."

"I will," says Merlin, and his footsteps are much lighter as he leaves.

It's not until lunch three days later that Mary sees the first bruise. Merlin reaches high, going for a goblet, and his sleeve bunches up at the shoulder.

Agatha sees it too. She's standing right behind him. "Where'd you get that?" she asks.

Merlin twists around, cup in hand, sleeve falling back down. "Get what?"

"That bruise." Agatha points to Merlin's upper arm.

"Oh." Merlin's eyes are a little too wide. "Training."

Agatha cants her head, frowning. "It looked like a hand."

"Or maybe it was bandits. Yeah, definitely bandits. Went hunting with Arthur the other day, you know how those things go."

Agatha looks alarmed. "You were attacked? I didn't hear anything from Leon."

Merlin's mouth opens and nothing comes out. He closes it, eyes looking off somewhere above Agatha's head as he bites his lip. "Or maybe it _was_ training. All those trips blur together, could've been bandits, could've been there were no bandits." He meets Agatha's eyes. "Don't know." Merlin moves around her. "Anyway, it doesn't matter, it's just a bruise." He's walking slowly. Has been for a few days. Mary paid it no mind until now-tiredness, she'd thought, or laziness. Now she's not so sure.

* * *

Merlin is stiff. Stiff and heavy when he's normally nimble and light on his feet, twisting through corridors and crowds. There are shadows like bruises below his eyes. He's started scuffing his feet in hallways, like it's not worth the effort to lift them. He keeps his head bowed when it's normally high and bright, smiling at everyone. Merlin has no smile.

Whispers start in the servant passages. "Is he alright? Is he sick?"

"Did you hear the king sent him home at midday yesterday?"

"Can't have. He came for bed sheets well into evening, the fine silk ones so they must have been for King Arthur, he'd never take them for himself—made a joke about the princess and the pea and the dainty senses of the high and mighty."

"I heard directly from Squire Ethan."

"Well then you heard directly wrong."

* * *

The passage is empty but for Henrietta and George as Merlin turns the corner and stumbles into a wall, dropping a fistful of papers.

Merlin's head is shaking sharply, like he's trying to clear his vision or his ears or wake himself up.

George and Henrietta slow before they reach him.

Merlin pushes off the wall, head still shaking. He takes a step and falls to one knee.

George hurries forward, setting an arm on his shoulder "You alright, Merlin?"

"I'm f—I'm fine." Merlin is blinking rapidly. He shakes off George's hand and gets back to his feet.

Henrietta gathers the papers for him. She holds them out. "Here."

Merlin squints at the offering, eyebrows pinching in confusion or surprise. "Oh." He takes them.

Henrietta frowns. "Your fingers are shaking. Are you sure you're alright? When's the last time you ate?"

"I'm fine," Merlin says. "I'm fine. I ate… recently." He frowns, amends, "I think." He stares at the wall. "Yesterday, definitely," he mumbles.

Henrietta puts a hand on Merlin's arm, turns him, "Let's just go down to the kitchens and get something."

Merlin shakes her off, waves the papers in his hand. "I have to… these."

"George can do it."

George steps forward and nods, holding his hand out. "Where were you headed with them?"

Merlin clicks his mouth. "Um…" He peers at the pages. He rubs at his forehead, falling silent.

"Well I'm sure they can wait." George takes Merlin's arm. "Let's get you to the kitchens. And then to bed. I'll inform the king you're feeling poorly."

"Okay," Merlin says, voice small. He's not walking steadily.

They take a few twists and turns.

"The kitchens," Merlin says. "Is it lunchtime?"

"For you, yes," says George.

"No, no I have to…" Merlin's finger twitches, mouth moving and nothing coming out, "…first."

"Have to what?" Henrietta asks.

"Have to… Something."

Another turn. They run into Sir Gwaine. Quite literally, each group rebounding with a clack, Merlin staggering.

Gwaine smiles. "Merlin, mate, where you been? I've been looking all over for you."

Henrietta shakes her head as she helps George steady Merlin. "He's not feeling well."

Gwaine's smile falls. He scans Merlin up and down, reaching a hand out when he sways. "Merlin?"

"Can you do it? I can't…" Merlin trails off, eyes large.

"Do what?" Gwaine asks. He nudges Henrietta aside and takes her place, concern on his face.

"Whatever you wanted. I just… I have a lot, I can't—"

"Merlin, I wanted _you_. Wanted to see you, it's been almost a week. You've been avoiding me, haven't you?"

"Um… No?"

Gwaine cranes around Merlin to look at George. "Where are we leading him?"

"Kitchens. Then bed."

Gwaine nods. "Sounds about right. Come on, Merlin."

"Arthur—"

"Queenie's fine."

"But I have to—"

"Eat and sleep and look after yourself. You look half dead, Merlin."

Merlin jerks away. "No. I have things to do." He jerks so hard he stumbles.

Gwaine steadies him. "They can wait. They will wait. Don't make me order you."

Merlin's head pulls back. "You can't…" He frowns. "Can you order me?"

Gwaine tugs him forward. "Hell if I know. I will, if that's what it takes."

Merlin goes silent for a moment, eyes on the tiles. Then he nods. "Yeah. Yeah, you have to order me. That's perfect. He can't…Not if you ordered me."

"_Who_ can't _what_?"

"_He_ can't get _mad._ Well he can, but he can't rightfully do anything about it. Do you rank higher than a lord, Gwaine? You're in the round table or whatever, but I mean are you… _Are you_ a lord?"

"Sure. And Arthur's _king_, you know that, right? Technically he's a _little_ higher ranked than me even if I am a lord."

Merlin shakes his head. He's letting Gwaine and George lead him. "I'm not talking about Arthur."

Gwaine slams to a halt and George and Merlin with him, Gwaine's frown deepening. "Who are we talking about?"

"_Him._"

"So not a girl then?"

"Of course, not a girl. Are girls lords? Well I guess they're ladies, because Gwen's a lady now that Elyan's—" Merlin's face widens in realization. He waves a hand—"because you're _lords_, right? Knights are lords?"

Gwaine shakes his head a little, "Can't argue with that reasoning." They start walking again. "So, Merlin, I _order _you to get food and rest and take the day off."

Merlin snorts. "Arthur just gave me a day off. He'll be so mad."

"Good." But Gwaine's face is stiff and almost solemn. "So, who _were_ we talking about?"

"Not Arthur," Merlin says, and that's all Gwaine gets from him.


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Two chapters today because I feel like this one is not so great and Merlin seems too OOC-I hope it makes sense as the story progresses..._

* * *

It's Elyan who hears the cry, 'guards!' and races down the hallway toward the sound. It's Lord Osric's room the cries are coming from, the lord's surly voice clear even through the barrier of wood. Elyan barrels into the room, sword drawn, ready for an assassin or thief. What he gets is Merlin cowering on one side of the room while Osric, bleeding from a head wound, is slumped against the wall on the other side, still screaming for guards.

Elyan straggles forward one more step, sword falling. Merlin flinches into the wall at the movement, hands raising in defense, wide eyes skittering from the sword to Elyan's hands to the lord across from him. He's utterly silent.

Lord Osric alights on Elyan. "Finally. This servant attacked me, I demand you arrest him at once."

Elyan frowns at him, "Attacked you?" He takes another step forward and turns, putting Merlin at his back, sword raising just an inch. He can hear Merlin breathing behind him, heavy and loud.

The lord nods emphatically. "With no warning," he adds.

Elyan doesn't move. His face darkens. "You alright, Merlin?"

Merlin's breath stutters.

"What?! He attacked me! Insulted me! Arrest him!" Osric exclaims.

Elyan ignores him. "Merlin?"

"I'm alright," Merlin murmurs, voice hitching.

Elyan draws his sword higher, eyes steely. "Care to tell me what really happened, my lord?" he asks Osric, spitting his title.

"I told you. The boy is an incompetent fool, when I reprimanded him, he went mad, sprang at me, slammed me into the wall. I demand—"

"Shut up. Merlin, what happened?" Elyan asks, voice strong but soft.

"He—" Osric begins.

Elyan glowers at him, sword pulling to aim at his throat. "I said _shut up_." His head turns just slightly. "Merlin?"

"He… I… I dropped his shirt. He screamed at me and threw his plate. I… he…" Merlin is hesitant, voice small, "He grabbed his sword and came at me. I was just trying to defend myself. I'm sorry."

Elyan twists his head a little, catching sight of the lord's sword partly under the table, the tip red, and Elyan feels his insides turn to marble. "Did he harm you?"

Merlin doesn't answer.

"Merlin, with the sword, did he harm you?" Elyan draws back, sword still up, glancing over at Merlin, eyes roving for blood. The manservant is holding his arm against his side. "Merlin."

"Just a… graze," Merlin stutters, pulling his arm away and turning it to show Elyan. "I'm sorry."

Osric starts raving. "The attack was warranted. He was trying to kill me. You're one of those common-born knights, aren't you? Can't dispense justice, can't see that the noble is in the right because of your jealousy. Guards!" he starts screaming again, "Guards!"

Sir Quinn comes racing in, drawing to a halt, looking taken aback. "Sir Elyan?" he asks.

"Osric attacked Merlin. I want you to escort him to the palace dungeons."

Quinn looks over at Merlin in the corner. "You alright, Merlin?" He sounds concerned.

Merlin nods mutely. The lord starts seething. "_He_ attacked _me_!"

Quinn draws his sword, stepping past Elyan. "If he did, he had good reason. Get up."

Osric stands, face red. "I demand justice."

"The king will sort it out," Quinn says, and flicks his sword toward the doorway than back to Osric. "Come on."

Elyan half expects Osric to leap forward and attack but he seems to settle when Quinn mentions the king. "I want him informed immediately. This will not stand." Boots thud on the floor as he starts walking out, Quinn behind him.

"He will be," Elyan says. "In fact, Sir Quinn, when you're done taking him to the dungeons, would you please alert the king yourself? I will bring Merlin to Gaius."

"Of course," says Quinn, and the lord settles even more. They disappear from view.

Elyan sheaths his sword and hurries over to Merlin, ignoring the flinch he gets when he reaches out to examine his arm.

"I really am sorry," Merlin says. "I didn't mean to drop his shirt."

"Merlin, you have nothing to be sorry for. It was Osric in the wrong, not you." The wound is long but shallow. Elyan grabs a nearby shirt on the floor—the dropped one, probably—and uses it to bind Merlin's arm despite the protests.

"Can you stand?" Elyan asks.

Merlin just breathes, eyes locked in the distance.

"Merlin."

His head spins, eyes meeting Elyan's. He swallows. "Of course. I'm fine."

Elyan gives him a hand up, but once Merlin is on his feet, he starts to sway. Elyan steadies him. "Are you hurt anywhere else?"

Merlin shrugs. "I'm fine."

Elyan settles a hand on Merlin's shoulder and draws him from the room, not really believing him. "You're shaking," he notes worriedly.

"I'm fine. Sorry there was such a commotion. It was my fault, really, I knew better than to drop it."

"Merlin, you have nothing to be sorry for."

"I feel guilty. I… I pushed him into the wall."

Elyan squeezes his shoulder. "He came at you with a sword. If you hadn't defended yourself, Arthur would be furious. You were entirely in the right."

"You just… you believe me?"

"Yes, Merlin. Why wouldn't I?"

"He started screaming for guards and I thought… you were going to arrest me."

"If I arrested you, Arthur and the other knights would kill me. Merlin, you're the most loyal and honorable man I've ever known. When I saw it was you, I knew immediately that Osric was the one in the wrong. You would never do anything to harm Camelot or one of her citizens unless you were more than justified."

"Thank you," Merlin murmurs.

Elyan squeezes his shoulder again. Their feet trail down the halls. Something is weighing on Elyan's mind. "Merlin, this isn't the first time Osric has overreacted or hurt you, is it?"

Merlin's breathing quickens. "I don't know."

"Okay," Elyan says, voice calm. He doesn't press.

They reach the physician's chambers but Gaius isn't there. Elyan steers Merlin over to sit. "You know where the bandages are?"

Merlin points to a chest in the corner, voice stronger, his limbs shaking less. "There." He stands up, missing Elyan's pointed look, and fetches something off a shelf. "To clean the wound," he explains, setting it on the table.

Elyan gently pushes him toward the seat again. Merlin doesn't take it, nimbly skirting around Elyan and up the stairs to his room, disappearing for a few seconds while Elyan debates going after him.

Merlin comes back down in a different shirt, sleeves short, the wound uncovered. There are bruises on his upper arms. He keeps his gaze on the ground as he walks around Elyan to sit at the table. He lays his arm on it. "There's some water against the far wall," he says, and Elyan fetches it. He lifts a cloth but Merlin takes it from him, dampening it and then starting to clean the wound.

"Let me do that."

Merlin shakes his head, voice deep and low. "It's fine. Thank you. I'm sure you have duties."

"I have a duty to you," Elyan says, and sits beside him.

Merlin scoffs, fidgeting away just a little. He cleans the blood away efficiently, stoutly refusing to let Elyan help. Elyan lays some bandages out for him instead, refusing to leave just as stoutly.

It's after Merlin finishes binding the wound that Arthur bursts in, "Merlin," on his tongue before the door is fully open.

Elyan stands, bowing his head. "He is alright. A shallow cut on his forearm, some bruises."

Arthur nods. Then his eyes find Merlin and lock in place. "What happened? Merlin?" When Merlin doesn't respond, Arthur steps closer, prompting, "Sir Quinn said something about Osric."

Merlin shakes his head. "It was nothing."

Elyan shares a sad look with Arthur.

Arthur comes to kneel at Merlin's side, taking in the bandaged arm, the bruises disappearing into his sleeves. "Merlin."

Merlin won't meet his eyes. "I dropped a shirt. It was stupid."

"You dropped a shirt?" Arthur asks, eyebrows raised. There's a brush of cloth as he adjusts his stance.

"Yes."

Arthur settles in. "And then what?"

Merlin shrugs, looking over at Arthur. "He was upset. We had a scuffle. That's all. You should probably fetch him from the dungeons before he really throws a fit."

Elyan frowns. If that's where the conversation is ending, he's not above contradicting his friend.

But Arthur purses his lips, eyes becoming shadowed. His gaze latches onto bloody cloth and bandages. "How was your arm cut?"

Merlin shrugs. "I cut it."

"On what?"

Merlin shrugs broader, eyebrows lifting. "On...his sword," he admits. And his shoulders deflate, gaze falling to stake a claim on the table. Merlin is fidgeting nervously, tilting away from Arthur, twitching with every word uttered.

"On his sword." Arthur hums. "Was it…" he rolls his eyes around, as though trying to think of an example, "On the ground?"

Merlin shakes his head. "In his hand," he says softly.

Arthur hums again. "So you cut your arm on his sword that he was holding."

Merlin lifts his shoulders, not meeting Arthur's eyes. "Yes." His shoulders stay up. At least he's not denying it.

"And why was he holding it?"

Merlin doesn't move, leaning almost precariously on the bench-seat. "He was upset," Merlin mutters, but Elyan watches his eyes pinch and flick back and forth, hears the way his voice lifts on the last word-almost a question.

"Because you dropped his shirt," Arthur says, and his words are not a question.

"Yes." Merlin answers anyway.

Arthur chews over this information. Crouching like that must hurt his legs because he shifts again. "And what happened after that?"

"I pushed him," Merlin says. A servant's voice. Controlled and concise and quiet.

Arthur raises his eyebrows again. "You pushed him. After you cut your arm on his sword."

"I…" Merlin's throat jumps. "Yes."

"Why?"

Merlin's mouth opens but forms no words. He seems to grow smaller. "I...don't know."

"You don't know." Arthur tilts forward a little, looking sullenly up at Merlin's face. "And then what happened?" he prods softly.

Merlin's lips quirk a little before they fall and he pulls his arms in. "I punched him."

"You punched him," Arthur repeats, sounding surprised and more than a little proud. "I suppose you don't know why you did that either."

Merlin's face darkens. "Called me a bastard," he says, "insulted my mother."

Ealdor and Hunith are two words Elyan has only heard from Gwen. The topics always seem to sadden Merlin-he dodges, dissuades, and distracts until the conversation has moved on.

Arthur nods, solemn, still looking at Merlin intently. "And then?"

"We scuffled."

Arthur's frown deepens before he nods, head bobbing up and down as his gaze shifts. "That how you got those bruises?"

Merlin shrugs.

"They look a few days old."

Merlin shrugs again.

Arthur hums. "I didn't know you were serving Osric."

Merlin meets his gaze with wide eyes. "He… asks for help, sometimes."

"How often?"

Merlin shakes his head, flicking his gaze from one of Arthur's eyes to the other, sitting straighter. "Doesn't matter," he says, voice firm. And then flinches.

"It matters to me," Arthur mutters.

"Forget it. You should really let him out soon."

Arthur stands. Straight and stiff and tall. Regal. "I'm not going to let him out."

Merlin startles. "What?!" he exclaims.

"He tried to kill you for dropping his shirt," Arthur says, glancing down, the words sharp with rage.

"He didn't try to kill me."

"He came at you with his sword, Merlin."

"I didn't say that!"

"That's what you told me," Elyan speaks up.

Merlin spins to look at him. There's betrayal in that gaze, and-Elyan squints-panic.

"In fact those were almost your exact words," Elyan says slowly. Suddenly there's an air of confusion taking over him, concern following, and the words are almost caught in it.

Merlin shakes his head.

Arthur gives him a look. "There you have it, then." He starts toward the door.

"Arthur, can we talk about this?" Merlin stands and Arthur turns sharply, face dark. Merlin skitters backward, arms flying up to shield his face and heart and lungs.

Arthur's face goes darker. His jaw shifts. The cot creaks as Arthur sits on it, putting himself at a distance, making himself less intimidating.

Merlin's arms come down, face red. He straightens. "It's not what you think. I mean it is, but it's not."

Arthur raises an eyebrow, chin lowering.

Merlin's hands move-gesturing something that Elyan can't follow. Finally he opens his mouth and says, "He's been enchanted."


	4. Chapter 4

Quiet clings to the corner of the room, mists around the center.

Arthur's voice is muffled by it. "Enchanted, Merlin?"

Merlin nods, head cloudy and thick and pulsing with terror. He ignores it, "Yeah." Merlin tries to talk at a normal volume though it feels like he's screaming, like he's drawing too much attention to himself from the dark shadows that are Arthur and Elyan. "He was gifted this box, see…"

A shift of movement from Arthur—just drawing his legs under the cot as he leans forward—is a rockslide to Merlin's senses. Clattering against his ears, filling his eyes like he's been buried. Merlin staggers back a step, head shaking, trying to find the floor. "He was… this box…"

Arthur stands, arm extending, "Are you alright?"

It feels like a punch to the gut. Merlin flails back another step. "Yes," he says—whispers—voice scraping against his skull. He's being too loud, he's being too loud, he's being too loud. Moving too much. "And it fell open, you see…" Merlin forces himself to talk louder. "...when I was bringing it to him."

"So… Was something inside?" Arthur is sitting down again, slow and careful, the cot creaking—screaming. Merlin should have fixed that. Oiled it. He wonders if it's upsetting Arthur or Elyan. Or Gaius—Lords, Gaius has to hear people shift on it all through the night.

"Merlin?" Elyan asks. He's a softer darkness than Arthur. Smaller and more still, standing like a servant.

"Yes, um… the box…" Merlin's mind is screaming at him—a thousand things he's never thought about before. A thousand things he's doing wrong. Another thousand things telling him Arthur and Elyan are upset—showing him.

"It fell open?" Elyan prompts.

Arthur hunches his form, elbows on his knees. A thunderstorm of movement. "Merlin?"

"Yes." The 's' is too sharp, ringing and ringing and ringing, slicing through his skin. "Um…" That sound feels much better. Softer. The hesitation soothing. Merlin hums out another one. "Enchanted."

"What was in it?" Arthur asks again—oh no, Merlin never answered him.

"Nothing," Merlin says, speed making him stutter. "Empty, it was empty."

"Okay…?" says Arthur, face falling, pinching in slight confusion.

"I think you've had a long week," says Elyan slowly, voice wrapping around Merlin like shadows, like snakes coiling around his limbs. "Maybe you should just get some rest."

"No!" Merlin screams.

Loud, loud, loud, loud, loud.

"He's enchanted—we're enchanted," Merlin says softly, sinking down onto the steps leading to his room.

"We?" Arthur charges into that immediately. Charges through Merlin's senses.

"Yeah," Merlin says, hand clutching at his head, voice small. "I… it fell open."

"You're enchanted? You've been enchanted? What is it?" Shadows with swords batter out the familiarity of Arthur's voice.

Merlin's head takes the brunt of the battle. It shakes. "What?"

"You're saying this box was enchanted, right? That it did something to you when it fell open and something to Lord Osric later when he opened it?" The shadows have a battering ram.

"You're not nearly as th—thick as everyone says you are, p-prat." They crack Merlin's skull for the insult. He curls backward, laying awkwardly on the steps, closing his eyes against the misting, crackling darkness that is Arthur.

"Well where's this box? How do we break the enchantment?" The cot screams as it creaks. "What _is_ the enchantment?"

Merlin shrugs and shakes his head a little. It's still too much movement.

"Should I fetch Gaius?" Elyan hisses. His feet are slithering across the room, growing closer and closer, Merlin can hear it. Can feel it.

"Stop," Merlin whispers.

"Merlin, what's the enchantment?"

Merlin's mind screams at him. Pathetic. Failure. He hadn't wanted to involve Arthur. Had intended to fix it on his own. All he did was make it worse. So much worse. Coward for not telling him. Failure for telling him. Coward. Failure. That's all Merlin is.

Arthur is waiting for a response, frozen tendrils of darkness waiting to spring forward.

"It…the enchantment…the box…" Merlin curls, hands pulling toward his head.

"Where's this box now?" Elyan coils around Merlin's throat, shadow scales scratching at his skin.

"Merlin?" Arthur says—softer than Elyan's hiss now, brighter. Still too dark.

Merlin shakes his head.

"Elyan, fetch Gaius. Then check Osric's room."

Feet slither away—rattle, actually.

"Merlin?"

"Sorry, um… I'm fine." Merlin forcibly uncurls, pushing up to sit instead of lay, arms wrapped around his torso. "The box is… in my room. I…took it." Thief, thief, thief, thief.

Arthur is so dark. Rising, filling the room. "Let's see it," he growls.

Thief. Thief. Coward. "Um…. it could enchant you too. We shouldn't… you shouldn't…" Merlin shakes his head. "Prat," he tacks on softly. The word roars through him. "Prat," Merlin says again. "You just need to let Osric out. It's not his fault. It's hard to…decipher things."

"But he did attack you?"

"I think so. Maybe." But that doesn't feel right. Doesn't fit right. Merlin's eyebrows pinch. "Err… No. It was my fault. I pushed him—I punched him. He—I… I don't know what happened anymore." Merlin's voice doesn't breach the volume of whisper. "My fault," he says. "Err… we've been enchanted." His eyes stay fixed on the floor at Arthur's feet, just shy of the darkness.

The shifting of shadows is all he sees. "This box is in your room?"

It's strange; Arthur's voice grating toward Merlin. The voice is too gritty for the blurred figure. As though he is crackling flame and not the smoke that rises from it.

Thief. Thief. Thief. "I'm sorry," Merlin says, and then he's falling off the stairs because the wraith that is Arthur is barreling toward him, large and fiery and full of wrath. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Merlin skitters into the corner of the room.

Arthur soars past. Disappears behind Merlin's bedroom door.

Merlin is a coward for not stopping him.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: You deserve better chapters than these. I apologize.

* * *

There's only one box in Merlin's room that Arthur has never seen before. It looks like stone—marble or granite—and it is small. Very small. The same size as the box that holds Arthur's signet ring. He doesn't touch it. He moves in and peers closely. The stone is smooth; no markings except for a line all the way around that Arthur assumes is the lid.

Can it really be enchanted? It wouldn't be the first time Merlin has blamed sorcery to get someone released from a cell. He's never one to do it lightly though. And he's never said that he was affected by the same magic.

If Merlin is lying, there's a reason. Maybe Osric threatened him. It seems likely. Arthur will have to question the lord before anything.

"Don't touch it!"

Arthur's head jerks up. That's Merlin, coming into the room—stiff and slow, eyes watching Arthur like he's a dragon about to roast him in flame.

"Don't touch it."

Arthur is careful not to move too quickly or broadly. There is _something_ off with Merlin, regardless of whether or not he's been enchanted. And Arthur doesn't like it.

An enchantment he can fix. Can fight. "When did you open it?"

"A week ago, but…" Merlin is hesitant and small and it is so very, very wrong. "Last night it got worse."

Alarm surges through Arthur. "Worse how?"

"I…louder. Darker. Everything is…Everything is glaring at me."

Arthur glances at the box again. "You're sure it's sorcery?"

"I'm sure." That's Merlin's voice. Wise and with a pulse of teasing.

"And it started the moment you opened this?" Arthur crouches down to squint at the box again, not noticing the way Merlin jolts behind him.

"Yeah," Merlin's breath hitches.

Arthur's squint turns to a glare. "Who else has had it? Where did it come from?"

"I got it from Bridgette. She said it was supposed to be placed in Osric's chambers."

"Do you know where she got it from?"

"George, I think."

Arthur straightens. Frowning, thinking, worrying. "Louder. You said 'louder'. What's louder? Are you hearing voices?"

"Not really…"

"Then what's louder?"

"…Everything," mumbles Merlin.

Arthur sighs, staring at the box, trying to work this out, hand rubbing lightly at his forehead. "Did you see Osric open it?"

"No."

Arthur hums. "And you spoke to Gaius? Has he found out what it is? Found a way to undo the spell?"

"I haven't…spoken to him."

Arthur's frown deepens. He turns. "You've known you were under a spell for a week and haven't told Gaius or me or anyone?" Elyan is already getting Gaius or he'd be sprinting away right now.

Merlin huddles in the corner of the room, fingers twitching where they hover protectively in front of his chest. He flinches. "I'm sorry."

Arthur softens his voice. "It's alright." He turns back to the stone box and in the corner of his eye he can see Merlin relaxing a little. He's been doing that a lot this week, now Arthur thinks of it. Settling when Arthur focuses on something else. And now Arthur can't focus on anything else.

"Merlin, Osric has been here for two weeks."

Merlin's form stills in Arthur's peripheral. "…Yeah."

"How long have you been serving him?"

Merlin somehow folds himself smaller. "Two weeks," he whispers.

Arthur holds back a sigh and refrains from twisting to look Merlin head on. "_Why_ have you been serving him?"

"He… because he's enchanted."

Arthur doesn't want to poke more holes in this logic because it's making Merlin sound scared to death, but it's as thin as a slice of cheese. "Which you learned _one_ week ago."

"Yeah," Merlin confirms, voice falling smaller.

"So why were you serving him?" Arthur is angry. Angry that Merlin was affected by this, is affected by this. It wasn't his job to handle this object. And it's horrible of Arthur, but he can't help but wish that it was some other servant cowering in the corner right now. It shouldn't be Merlin. It should never be Merlin. Why is it always Merlin?

"He… I… Camdyn was crying."

Camdyn. The boy who tends the fires.

"Osric got upset with him. Threw a…threw a log. He was scared to go back so I took over. And I was there when George 'moved too fast' and Osric… It scared me too," Merlin says. "So I took over for George. Told him the king's manservant would be better suited, that it would please Osric, cool his temper."

"Merlin." Arthur runs a hand down his face. "You're supposed to come to me with these things."

"I'm sorry."

Arthur gives it space. Tries to think. Morgana is his first thought, but why she would target one lord in particular is anyone's guess.

"You should…take a step back," Merlin says.

"What?"

"From the box. It—the lid sort of jumped right off. You should step back just in case."

"It jumped off?" Arthur exclaims, and does step back.

Something thuds behind him and Merlin groans. "Ow."

Arthur slows.

The outer door bursts open and there's Percival and Gaius. Arthur keeps his focus on them and gives Merlin his space in the corner. "Gaius!" Arthur takes a step back so Gaius can see past him to the box on the nightstand, "Could this object be enchanted? Do you know what it is?"

"No, sire. That is to say I have never seen it before."

"Is that what Elyan's looking for in Osric's room?" Percival asks, footsteps thudding large on the wood floor.

Merlin flinches.

Arthur brushes softly past him, out to the others. "Gaius, you've never heard of a stone box that makes people…" he doesn't know what to call it, the wrongness that is Merlin. "Scared?"

"No, sire."

"What about angry? Or that makes things…loud and dark?"

"Dark, sire?" Gaius raises an eyebrow.

"Yes, _dark_. Just figure it out, would you? Or direct me to a book or something, maybe an anti-curse… flower." Arthur can fix this. Arthur needs to fix this. He needs to know what it is first.

"Arthur?" Percival asks.

"It's Merlin. Something's wrong with Merlin and I have to go and figure out what…" Arthur sighs. "Can you just keep an eye on him for me? I—maybe I can find the source of this thing. And Gaius if you can try and figure out what this is, make sure Merlin doesn't have a heart attack or anything. I have to…" Arthur's arms gesture uselessly. "Osric and George."

"Yes, but what's going—"

"I don't know yet!" Arthur cuts Percival off, already halfway out the door. "Don't let Merlin go anywhere. And don't touch that box!"

* * *

George is harder to find than Arthur ever would have thought. The man must race around from one distant location to another on horseback. 'Kitchens,' says the master of staff, 'Lord Hywel's room,' says Mary, 'Stables,' says Hywel, 'Great hall,' says the stable-master. Arthur is ready to punch something. Or someone.

"George!" If he's not in the great hall, so help Arthur, he is going to tie the man to the stocks when he finally finds him.

George appears at Arthur's side. "King Arthur. How can I be of—"

Arthur grabs George by the shoulders, trying to ungrit his teeth, "Where did you get that box?"

George's head tilts. He is calm and composed as always, unperturbed by Arthur's appearance. "Which box would that be, sire?"

"The stone box intended for Osric's chambers, the one Bridgette gave to Merlin."

"Well I… I got it from Lord Osric, sire."

Arthur is going to murder someone.

"What do you mean you got it from Osric?! It was going _to _Osric!"

"Yes, sire, but it was his. He wanted me to polish it—outside only, he said, be very careful not to open it, and I was. I was very careful. I-"

"George."

"Polish it and have Merlin bring it back, 'save yourself the trouble.' Now normally I would say it isn't be any trouble at all but Lord Osric sire, he insisted, 'Have Merlin bring it back.' I handed it off to Bridgette because she was headed to the laundry and that's where Merlin was. Simple as that." George cants his head. "Should I have done differently, sire?"

Arthur races back to the court physician's chambers. _The lid sort of jumped right off._


	6. Chapter 6

"How did the lid jump off? When did the lid jump off? Was Osric there?" Those are the first words out of Arthur's mouth after the door is open. Gaius stares at him, sitting at the table with a book open in front of him. Arthur barrels past, up the stairs—forcing himself to slow because Merlin is scared by him. He softens his voice. "Merlin, was Osric there?"

Merlin stares at him with wide eyes—so does Percival sitting on the bed, hand falling from his sword hilt as he realizes who just burst in, and Arthur can't tell if he's guarding Merlin or the box.

"What?" Merlin asks.

"You said the box fell and the lid jumped off. Was Osric there when that happened?"

"I was…It happened just when I was entering his chambers."

"Was Osric there?"

"I don't know. But he was already enchanted, so does… does it matter?" Merlin braces after the question, head twisting toward his shoulder like he's waiting to be hit.

Arthur takes a step back and sinks down next to Percival on the mattress. "I have to think about this."

Merlin watches him warily.

Percival looks wary too. He's never seen Arthur so… what's the opposite of collected?

Arthur taps his fingers on his mouth for a good long minute. Then he lifts his chin, fingers stilling. "Did Osric say anything about the box to you, Merlin?"

Merlin shakes his head mutely.

"Did he change at any point while you were serving him? Anything to indicate he'd been enchanted?" Arthur is talking fast. Too fast.

Merlin shakes his head again, curling away a little. He's still tucked up in the corner, of course he is. Arthur's just not sure who put him there.

Arthur goes back to tapping his mouth, eyes on the floor in front of him. "Leon's father and Osric's were friends, it's possible Leon is more familiar with Osric than I am. Percival, would you find him, bring him here?"

"Leon?" Percival asks.

"Yes, _Leon_," Arthur snaps, patience frayed—he's been running around after George all day and the man couldn't have the decency to make any sense once he found him. "Go."

Percival stands and leaves and Merlin relaxes just a fraction.

Arthur sits, fingers tapping, and thinks.

Gaius shouts something. He clambers up the stairs, book in hand. "The box is empty?"

Merlin nods, watching Gaius with the intensity of a hawk.

Gaius points to a page. "A stone from the high mountains of Gildref was said to be the final resting place of the Great King Payrenaud. His death was highly unnatural and there were many accusations to the castle staff after Payrenaud's head was found in the wine cellar two days before he was due to make a law changing wages for workers. The rest of his body was never found. His brother, the Greater King Darrenrod, put a curse upon the box and executed any staff who refused to open it in his presence. He claimed it would put right how any person viewed the world and the people in it. And indeed, the staff have been much more suitable since. The knights have also been made to open the box and improved forthwith at fulfilling their commission. Only now the stone tomb has disappeared from the vaults…" Gaius lifts his head. "It goes on, sire. I believe this is the stone that held the ashes of Payrenaud, though where the ashes have disappeared to is a mystery I doubt we will solve."

Arthur hums. "Does it say anything else about the curse?" He glances at Merlin. Merlin tenses under the scrutiny. "Or how to reverse it?"

Gaius rifles through a few pages, but ends up back on the same one he started on. "Gildref is a familiar name…" He squints down, reading.

Arthur looks over at the stone. "Can we just smash the box? Will that destroy the curse?"

Gaius doesn't look up, fingers scanning the paper. "I highly doubt it, sire. In fact it might only serve to make it more permanent."

Arthur sighs. "Isn't there a clear-all-magic cup or cavern or something?"

Gaius looks up, eyebrow raised. "I will look into it, sire."

* * *

Osric has a red face. Red and angry and he's yelling something from where he's pressed up against the bars of the cell. The moment he sees Arthur, his face goes calm. "My lord," he greets, head bowing.

Arthur has no patience today. "You have amongst your possessions a stone box that used to hold the ashes of King Payrenaud. Are you aware that it is cursed?"

Osric is the form of humility. "Sire, I am sorry to correct you but it is not a curse on the stone. It is a blessing."

"You are aware magic is outlawed?"

"Are miracles, sire?" Osric keeps his head bowed. He won't meet Arthur's gaze. Arthur hates it.

"I have it on good authority the box has been enchanted with witchcraft. Look at me when I'm talking to you, Osric."

Osric looks up. His gaze is small and polite. It reminds Arthur of George. Eager to be useful. Helpful. "I myself do not know where the blessing came from. If you believe it to be an enchantment, I am sure you are right. I will gladly accept whatever punishment you deem suitable, sire." His head bows again.

"Look at me."

Osric looks.

"Did you intentionally lead the box to Merlin and somehow ensure it would open in his presence?"

"The stone wants to be opened," Osric says, voice quiet and kind, "I knew it would feel Merlin's unabashed incompetency and his mockery for service and open for him. I had hoped it would fix George as well, but it seems he, at least, is passable at his profession."

"You knew Merlin would be cursed by it. You wanted him to be cursed by it."

"Blessed, sire."

"Look at me." Arthur is quickly filling with anger. Trying to keep calm. "Did the box open in your presence as well? Who granted it to you?"

"I stumbled across it myself, I'm afraid. It was resting on an archway in the Valley of Fallen Kings."

"Of course it was," Arthur mumbles.

"I opened it, and discovered the blessing. I have used it to enlighten many a servant or wayward errand boy."

"Of course you have," Arthur groans. He pinches the bridge of his nose. This might be worse than he thought.


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: This story is moving really slowly, I know. Thank you for those of you sticking with it._

_I am so, so, so, so sorry for this chapter._

* * *

Camelot's streets are busy. Carts and clutter and crowds. Leon has walked up and down this row a hundred times. A thousand times. It's never felt like this before.

Well, that's not true. Years ago, when he was just barely moving up from squire, he had to deliver news to a woman in a small room. Had to her that her son was dead and she was alone. That's what this feels like, as he walks the streets from door to door to door, locating victims of a curse.

"She came home and looked at me like I was a monster. It didn't matter what I said or did; how hard I tried to fix it. She couldn't… Like I was a monster, Leon. Finally she went back to live with her mother. Took the kids with her. Lords… what am I supposed to do?" That was Quinn, another knight. He's from a strong house with a proud heritage, and his wife had been a scullery maid. Arthur hadn't cared. Arthur had supported it. Apparently, Osric hadn't.

"Came home with a bruise on his cheek, Leon. Said the master of house suddenly hated the way he stood. They fired him. Leon, they fired my little boy because he stood too straight. I'm already working two jobs, all day every day, but we just can't afford anything anymore. Can't pay the rent. Jarin's threatened to kick us out more than once. If Robin doesn't get another job soon, we'll have to leave Camelot. I don't know where we'll go. It's just us. Henry died two years ago, you remember. We don't have any family left. Where are we meant to go?"

Story after story after story. Leon stands at doors and listens. Puts names on a paper.

Osric's only been there two weeks. How could he upend half of Camelot in two weeks?

"She's starving herself, can't eat when she's supposed to be working. She's always working. She watches children for families all day and night, stays there while the parents go to work. Sir, she won't eat. 'Too much work to be done,' she says, and she makes food for the kids but she won't touch it because it's 'not hers to touch'. She's never done this before, I don't know what's wrong. Sir Leon, you have to do something, please. Talk to her for me, maybe she'll listen to you."

Leon's steps grow heavier and heavier. Finally he just take it anymore. "I'll talk to her."- "I'll give him a job."- "You can stay with me."- "I'll put in a word with the innkeeper."- "This soup is wonderful, you're a great cook."- "You're not a monster."- "Don't worry, we'll find her, I'm sure she'll come home. I'll let everyone know to be on the lookout. I'll ask everyone I see. I'll find her, I will. We will. I promise. Please don't cry."

Story after story after story. He'll probably go home to find a party of people because he can't seem to turn anyone down. It's possible not all of them were affected by the curse. That some of these are just everyday stories. Everyday misfallings. As a knight of Camelot it's his duty to serve the people. Does he need an invitation from some curse? Shouldn't he have noticed before now?

"And then he just snapped right back to normal," he says.

"What?" Leon hadn't been expecting that.

The man shrugs-the owner of the best tavern in town and several of the inns. "He's a rambler, you know, and doesn't know his own strength—tends to break things. I think he was a blacksmith before he was a butcher. And for a few days there he got real quiet, keep apologizing for everything, kept freaking out whenever he broke something or misplaced something. Kept begging me not to lose my work, and then one day I walked in and he was just normal again. Big and loud and proud. I figured he was having a rough week or something."

"What's his name?"

"Bill. Butcher shop called 'Ribs to Spare'."

The shop is exactly what Leon's expecting. Dirt floor, wood walls, a sign over the door. "Bill?" he asks, walking in. Marching in. He has a job to do.

There's a burly man at the counter. "That's me," he booms. Big and loud was right.

And suddenly Leon doesn't know quite how to ask. 'Has anyone been behaving strangely lately, anything unusual been happening, maybe people you know growing scared or angry? Maybe you, yourself?' That's what he's been asking at doors. It doesn't fit for some reason. "Did you perchance open a small stone box?" Leon makes the box with his hands.

Bill's eyes widen. "That's a strange thing for you to know." There's meat on the counter in front of him, red and raw and bloody. He goes back to cutting it. "Lord Osric brought it by. He must have just gotten it or something because he was real excited to show it off."

Leon can feel his face lifting. "You opened it?" he asks, because he has to be sure.

"Yes," says Bill with a shrug.

"Did it… affect you in any way?" Another weird thing to ask and Leon's not sure how. "Maybe things around you started to look different?"

Bill stops cutting and looks up with a squint. "How on earth would you know that?"

"So it did? They did?" Leon has to be sure.

"Well…" Bill bears around the corner of the counter, slamming against it as he stops to lean. "It was like everything got real intense for a while, you know? Sounds and people and feelings."

Leon nods. "And how did it stop?"

"Well…"

* * *

Percival feels heavier than usual. Sitting on the bed between the stone and Merlin, trying not to look large. It's a failed effort, but Merlin doesn't seem to mind him as much as he minds Leon and Arthur. Elyan had suggested it was because of their birth right. Something Osric said about common-born knights.

Gwen is sitting numbly next to Percival, head in her hands, staring at the wall. She was staring at Merlin but Merlin kept eyeing her and shifting and looking all around uncomfortable so she moved her gaze over to the wall and it stuck there. She sighs.

Percival sighs.

Merlin shifts. "We should be working, shouldn't we? I don't… We should be working?"

"We're fine," Gwen murmurs. It's not the first time she's had to reassure him. "Arthur's ordered you not to work until we fix this, remember?"

Percival doesn't know how she manages to stay so soft and patient in her voice. And then his eyes roll over Merlin as he glances past her to the door—Merlin nervous and small, sitting straight now, at least (he really seems to clear once Arthur leaves)-and suddenly Percival does know. "Bet you've never had so many days off."

Merlin shakes his head mutely. He stands, hauling to his feet and slapping his hands together. "I think we should be working, what do you think? Lots to do, helping Arthur fix the curse and all that."

"Sit down," Gwen murmurs softly, still staring at the wall.

Merlin sits and taps his fingers, making noises as he moves his mouth around, staring blandly toward the door. And then his eyes move up to the stone and narrow. "I'm sure there's something we can do." He reaches up, stretching forward, tilting forward more than rising, "Let me see it."

Gwen holds out a hand and gently pushes him back. Merlin slumps. He starts tapping his head back against the wall, eyes on the ceiling, hands moving restlessly—knocking on his legs. "I really think we should be doing something. I feel… I'm quite sure of it, actually. So much to do."

"We're fine," Gwen murmurs.

Percival's leg is growing numb. He shifts. Tilts toward the stone as he moves his feet. That's when the lid jumps off.

* * *

Leon runs into Gwaine on his way to tell Arthur the news about the curse. Gwaine runs into him, more like; notices him running and moves to run beside him. "What'd you find?"

Leon shakes his head, too breathless to respond more than, "I think we can fix this."

Gwaine broadens his stride, sprinting even faster, "Well come on, then!"

Arthur is in the library. Should be, anyway. And, yep. Leon can hear him yelling. He crashes into the room with Gwaine just as Arthur shouts, "What are you doing? You're not supposed to touch it!"

The form across from Arthur is instantly recognizable. Percival skitters backward from the king, shaking his head a little. He's got a hand clamped down on the lid of the stone box, keeping it closed. "It already opened on me. Gwen too. We want to help you, Arthur. We're here to be of service."

Oh no.

Gwaine frowns beside Leon. There's a drifting weight about him that Leon doesn't like.

"Are you _drunk_?" Leon hisses at him.

"No," Gwaine says, offended or disgusted or _something_. He sways.

"Gwaine!"

And that's when Leon realizes that Percival is staring at them. "It's not his fault," Percival mutters, eyes wide, form trying and failing to not take up much room. "All this curse business. But we'll fix it. We'll fix it for you. Me and Gwen and Merlin. Don't even worry about it. Sorry you had to worry about it."

Arthur has his head in his hands. "Oh, _lords_."

"Right," says Percival, voice little, "Sorry you had to worry about it, _my lords_."

Arthur folds, resting his elbows on his legs as he presses his hands to his eyes. "I hate this."

Gwaine tips forward. Percival moves to catch him. The box falls.

Leon watches it go toward the floor, form tense. It hits the ground on its side but stays in one piece.

Leon relaxes, watching Arthur do the same across from him.

Arthur lets out a breath, "Well that was—"

The lid flies off.


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: Pretend unalone is a word. Sorry this is so short, I might post another chapter later today to make up for it._

* * *

**Last night**

Merlin doesn't feel right. Arthur's servant, Arthur's friend. King Arthur's servant, a prat's friend. A servant. A friend.

A servant to Camelot. A friend to Camelot.

He knows which is right but his mind is arguing against him.

Shadows of the other servants dance around him and he should be falling into place with them. Merlin feels out of place. Feels exposed and vulnerable and it makes him unsettled. It wears his focus thin and even small movements and murmured voices make his senses skitter away. Make him skitter away.

Unnoticed. That is a servant's task. To not be seen or heard or asked for because everything has been taken into consideration and arranged in advance.

Eyes flick over Merlin and he shies away because it doesn't feel right. Nothing feels right.

He'd talk to Gaius but he is Gaius's ward, and meant to make his life easier. All he has ever done is make it difficult. He shouldn't bother Gaius. Can't bother Gaius.

It's magic. And it created such a sudden shift that he knows it's origin. The stone box in Osric's room.

Upkeep, he tricks himself into thinking. It's a servant's job to polish things and keep them in good order. He takes the box. Pulls out the book of spells he keeps tucked up under his bed.

Servant. Friend.

The first promising spell he comes across is one to clear a head. It's meant for hangovers but Merlin tries it anyway. It sharpens everything into focus. The stain on the covers of his bed. The chipped wood of the windowsill. The stolen box sitting in front of him.

Merlin flips the pages of his book and keeps looking.

The next one he tries is supposed to simplify thoughts. Help someone solve a problem with logical conclusions.

And suddenly Merlin is a thief for the stolen box and a failure for the chips in the wood and lazy for the stain on the covers and-

He keeps flipping pages, shaking his head against the rampaging thoughts. He'll find something. He has to find something. Maybe the right combination will clear things up, return them to normal. Or fix whatever he's just done at least. If not he can fix them later, he's sure—a potion or paste or anti-spell or something.

A spell to clarify. That's the next one he tries. A spell to connect the mind to the senses, to unite them. A spell to weed out encroaching feelings and make things clear. Merlin tries it.

And a moment later, the trickling invasion of _servant_ becomes a cascading waterfall. Everything grows in volume. Merlin drowns in a world of bright smoke and clear mist and roaring whispers.

* * *

**Present**

"Not 'Gildref', _Gedref_. It must be." Gaius shakes his head. "Oh, I am a fool if a little misspelling like that hindered my research. Perhaps I am getting old." Gaius turns the corner and pushes open a door and finds that someone is just exiting.

Elyan's eyes widen as he draws to a halt. "Gaius, are you…you?"

Gaius feels old. His forehead pinches in slight confusion. "Yes?"

Elyan lets out a breath. "The others are all affected. Please tell me you found something."

Gaius's heart falls. Age sinks into his bones. He shakes his head.

* * *

Arthur has to squint to keep from being blinded. Merlin keeps shifting. Dark, bright, dark, bright. Big, small, big, small. Pulsing. Arthur is beginning to understand why Osric was so frustrated with him.

There's something muffled and indistinct about him. And Arthur feels alternating waves of respect and disgust. Like the curse can't decide where Merlin fits. It is driving Arthur mad. "Would you make up your mind, Merlin?!"

Merlin's form settles inward, his head curling down. "Sorry, sire."

_Sire._ A wave of rightness, of pride lifting Arthur's chin.

_Sire._ A wave of wrongness, of inadequacy weighing down Arthur's shoulders. Merlin should not be calling him sire. Merlin is the one-

No, Merlin should be calling him sire, should be bowing lower, blending into the wall, less than dirt—

Mightier than mountains. Tall and powerful and noble and-

Arthur can't figure him out either. Can't decide which one Merlin is.

Arthur rubs at his head. "Just sit down and don't move." Arthur is busy sorting himself out. Doesn't have the wherewithal to sort out Merlin too.

A king. Unquestioned and mighty and proud.

An equal. Imperfect, unalone, and humble.

A king. An equal. Arthur can't decide which is right.

* * *

Arthur is a dragon. Merlin has finally figured it out. The shadows are wings. He's a shadow dragon. Bright with flame. A glare one moment and a void the next. He is regal and proud and Merlin finds himself gravitating toward him, wanting to please him. Fear and respect and loyalty and friendship all battling against each other. All for a different level and form of the same reaction.

Merlin is glad to serve Arthur. Until the day he dies. He just wishes Arthur's presence wasn't so overwhelming. Wishes the world wasn't so loud and that he could think or act beyond instinct because all his instincts have been skewed by the enchantment.

Arthur is a dragon. Merlin is a dragonlord.

He doesn't feel like one.


	9. Chapter 9

There are people in Leon's home. Tiny little splashes of light forcing Leon to glare at the world before him. He tilts his chin up to lessen the glare cutting past his nose, and to thin his eyes. There are people in his home and none of them fit.

The wooden walls don't fit either. They should not feel so tall; glaring back at Leon. Laughing at him. Leon roves over them with disdain.

"Knock on wood," Bill the butcher had said. "Simple as that."

And Leon had watched as he had one of the townspeople try it out. Watched it work.

Watched them act as though it had worked.

Leon doesn't want to knock on wood. Bill had been lying, he's sure. Just like all these people in his home, manipulating to get what they want. It's what makes them so bright. And it hurts Leon's eyes and he hates it. His hand brushes the wood of his chair as he sits and he scoffs. To knock on wood is the most outrageous and laughable superstition he's ever heard.

Now Leon is glaring up and that doesn't feel right. It twists his stomach and makes his hands clench. He made commitments and as a knight he must honor them. That doesn't feel right either. Nothing does.

He likes these people. Knows them.

A glare walks past and Leon corrects himself. He knows they are nothing. Should be nothing.

He is unsettled; knows how he used to feel, how he should feel, but now those feelings make him shift uncomfortably in his seat. His wooden seat, arms resting proudly on the wooden table.

Knock? He scoffs.

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Gaius is trying to convince King Arthur of something he doesn't want to be convinced of and Percival is bursting with the desire to step in and pull Gaius away. To support his king.

"You must travel to Gedref, sire. You must reunite the ashes of the head with the body that was never found. It's the only solution I can find." They are standing in the Great Hall. Arguing without arguing somehow.

"That is Rodor's kingdom. You should not be so forward." King Arthur is towering above his court physician.

Gaius bows his head but barrels on. "You are allies with Rodor, sire. You may travel safely through his lands. When the corpse is reunited, I believe the curse will be broken."

"Believe?" Sir Gwaine asks. He breaks forward. "You do not know, and yet you come here asking your king to risk his life."

Gaius sighs. "Send Elyan, sire. Let him bring a few knights and undo this curse."

"And where will he find the ashes of the head?" King Arthur asks, voice like a whip. "Or have you forgotten the box was empty?"

Gaius hesitates. "I believe—I'm sure Osric would know something about their whereabouts. Perhaps he relocated them or perhaps they are in the Valley of the Fallen Kings."

"Perhaps?" Sir Gwaine scoffs and Percival is glad of it. The idea of interrupting or contradicting makes him nervous.

"He must know, sire. You must ask him."

King Arthur towers taller, mouth in a thin line. "I must do nothing. I will do nothing. I cannot send away Camelot's army on a mission with no guarantee. It would be foolish. I am no fool, Gaius."

Gaius dips his head. "No, sire."

King Arthur shakes his head. Shakes it like he's grown tired and needs to wake himself. He sighs. "Send Sir Elyan to ask Lord Osric, Gaius. If he can locate the missing ashes, then I will consider this quest."

Gaius's shoulders lose their tension. He bows lower. "Thank you, sire."

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Elyan is relived that Gaius has found a possible solution. It makes his footsteps feel light as he strides through the corridors to the dungeons. He's in such a rush that it feels as though his feet are falling down each step more than walking on them.

The guards let him pass without a second glance and Elyan sprints down the row of cells. He stops at the last one to find that it is empty. A frown mars his face. Elyan squints into the cell. Then he glances up and around to be sure he has the correct one. He does. Empty. So Elyan trails slowly and deliberately back down the line, peering into each cell.

Osric isn't there.

Elyan's feet pound the stone as he races over to the guards. "Lord Osric. Where is Lord Osric?"

One of the guards gives him a strange look, "Who?"

The other guard hits the first guard. "Osric, you dolt. One of the people we're meant to be guarding. You're supposed to be on the lookout for his kin, remember?"

The first guard just pinches his face in confusion. "Never heard of him."

Something cold pools in Elyan's stomach. "What do you mean?"

"I mean I've never heard of him. There's no Osric in these cells so far as I know."

The second guard races down the row, squinting into the cells just like Elyan did. He sprints back, shaking his head, face twisted. "No Osric. He wasn't released, was he? Should I sound the alarm?"

Elyan nods. "Go." He turns back to the first guard as the second leaps up the stairs. "How long have you been at this post?"

"Since sunrise."

"Where you alone at any point?"

The guard shakes his head. "Never."

Elyan frowns. "Who else was stationed here?"

The guard gestures up the stairs. "Henry. And before that, some new fellow."

Elyan follows the hand and then twists back to meet the guard's eyes, frown deepening. "New fellow?"

The guard nods. "Kept his helmet on the whole time, poor bloke. I think someone told him he had to wear it in like you wear in boots."

"What was his name?" Elyan asks.

"Called himself Gorlois, he did."

Elyan's steps are heavy as he bolts back up the stairs.


	10. Chapter 10

Something is wrong. And none of the staff are quite sure what it is.

Sir Percival has always been quiet. Now he's almost mute. He's gained a clumsiness—an awkwardness—that no one likes. He trips. Over his feet, over chairs, over the wall because he's trying to walk right up against it. He bashes into doorframes and tables and rails. But never into people. He dodges them. Violently, sometimes; wrenching his whole form in the other direction. It's half the reason he keeps bashing into things.

Percival is not training with the other knights. Not going out on patrols or taking up posts guarding. He wanders around. Restless, his hands twitching, eyes constantly searching. He goes in circles around the castle and the castle grounds and the market, reaching out to fix things and then yanking his hands back like he's been shocked. He circles all day like a dog searching for scraps. No one knows quite what to make of it.

Gwaine is worse somehow, bolder but indecisive. He yells. He never yells. But when his voice starts quiet it rises and rises like he's not sure he can hear himself speak. He's gained a single-minded focus, throwing himself into everything he does. He spars with the knights and breaks someone's arm. And then he flinches violently, rushing forward, face softened, an apology on his lips as he guides the knight to Gaius. An apology riddled with suggestions for improvement.

He flies back and forth between angry and helpful and no one's quite sure which to expect. It makes them nervous around him. Makes them wary.

Leon is rigid. Stiff and blank and constantly squinting at everyone around him. Like he's not sure who to trust. He keeps a hand on the hilt of his sword at every moment, stalking around the castle like a bloodhound.

Gwen is small and quick and she whirls about rooms and floors and chores with ruthless efficiency.

Arthur is unmovable. He is like a statue in the garden; tall and strong and unbending. He stands perfectly still at the centers of corridors and rooms, a motionless rock parting the streams of people.

And Merlin… Merlin is a disaster. As clumsy as Percival, as quick as Gwen, as wary as Leon. He is a living breathing storm shadow with winds as powerful as hurricanes.

The whole kingdom is radiating tension and fear and wrongness. It feels like the great purge; families being torn apart, people turning on one another, age-old habits suddenly starting to fray and unravel and then sewn into something else entirely.

The people are not as passive as they're believed to be.

Elyan and Gaius are eager for help and advice. Whispers mist about the castle like ghosts without the restrictions of walls or station or circumstance. Ashes. Stone. Gedref.

The people prepare for a quest. Rodor is friendly to Camelot, and there is no reason to expect hostility so why shouldn't they go? Why wouldn't they go? Someone needs to.

It's George who finds the ashes of the head. Won't say how or where, but he mentions connections, glances at Susie sitting strong and quiet in the corner of the room where she can keep an eye on everything. Susie's always had a strangeness about her. A knowledge of things without being told, a memory that never fails, a lack of fear in the face of the worst possible situations. A calmness, like she knows everything will work out. But it is a calmness with worry, like she isn't sure she likes the way things work themselves out, even if she is unsurprised by it.

There are rumors of witchcraft. Rumors that die down almost immediately. The people protect their own, if they can. The castle staff especially. No witchcraft. Just having faith and being observant. Pure and simple.

Mary prepares the food for everyone. The stable master borrows a dozen horses. Sir Quinn and a handful of other knights, Elyan among them, slip quietly away to accompany the group.

There are people in Camelot. There is wrongness in Camelot. And the people determine to fix it.

* * *

Elyan is at the back of the party. Trailing far enough behind to be able to hear hoofbeats following, but not far enough that he can't see the group before him.

There _are_ hoofbeats following. And Elyan keeps careful track of them.

Merlin was saddling a horse behind the stables and Elyan is sure it is Merlin following them now. Elyan makes sure he doesn't fall too far behind.

He is glad of Merlin's presence. If there's one thing you bring on a quest, it's Merlin.

When they settle down to make camp for the night, Elyan trails backward.

"Merlin?"

Merlin is still on the horse. Not stopping. Elyan pulls up alongside him and reaches out to take the reins, ignoring Merlin's flinch. "Merlin, we've set up camp."

"I have to keep going," Merlin says. "I have to fix this. It's my fault. It's all my fault."

"Merlin."

"Sir?"

"It's Elyan, if you're comfortable with that. Come rest. Eat."

Merlin makes a strange sound in the back of his throat. A not-quite-agreement. He shakes his head. "I can't. I… There's…" He shakes his head.

"I could make it an order." Elyan tries and fails to get Merlin to meet his eyes. "Or ask a favor. There's safety in numbers. You'd be helpful to have."

"I can't, Elyan."

Elyan nods. He still has hold of the reins of Merlin's horse. Things fix themselves when Merlin wanders off alone. But when Merlin wanders back he'll be quiet for a day or two. Or bone-tired or stiff. His smile becomes strained. That's when he leaves at one hundred percent. Elyan doesn't want to see how he'll come back if he leaves like this.

"I'll come with you, then. Together. We'll find the ashes and meet back up with the group. You alright with that?"

Merlin doesn't yes. He doesn't say no either.

Elyan lets go of the reins and follows him.


	11. Chapter 11

Merlin has been on hunts before. Been on quests and campaigns and everything imaginable. He's never been on one quite like this. The forest is calm and freeing. True, there is a restlessness in Merlin's bones and the forest feels empty and unfulfilling but it so much better than the castle.

Elyan follows him. The sound of horse hooves is hammering into Merlin's mind but Elyan is out of sight at least. Out of sight, not out of mind.

Merlin fiddles with the reins and saddle and bags. Kilgharrah would get Merlin to Nemeth so much faster. Merlin hadn't felt comfortable calling him. Too afraid of how he might appear. Dragons were noble creatures once. Still are.

There are shadows moving at the edges of Merlin's vision. Only the edges. It's wonderful. Merlin watches the trees, finding more focus and calm than he's had in what feels like a very long time, focus and calm that he was worried he might never find again.

The horse, however, is quickly picking up on Merlin's restlessness. Merlin shifts in the saddle every few moments, not quite feeling right. The horse beneath him gains a hesitation to an exponentially increasing number of steps. A need to move but not quite sure where.

They stop only to water and feed the horses. To give them a brief rest.

Elyan doesn't approach Merlin and Merlin is grateful. Beyond grateful. He coils around the edges of Merlin's mind instead, rattling and shadowy.

Merlin means to lose him at some point. Set up camp and feign sleep and disappear in the night. He doesn't quite manage it. They take a brief break during the next day and continue on, blessed with silence—conversation wise, at least. All other sounds are roars to Merlin. He is grateful to Elyan. He doesn't think he could handle the sweltering, crackling flame of conversation.

Merlin means to lose him, he really does. The problem is that the idea of it is eating away at him. Screaming at him. He can't abandon Elyan. A knight of Camelot. A friend. He just can't.

So he settles for the sharp stabs of _coward_ and _fool_ and presses on.

He's expecting to be attacked by bandits at some point. Or Morgana. Or just good old-fashioned thugs.

The forest is calm.

It's unsettling. Merlin is waiting for the attack. Prepared for it. He has to be prepared for it. Always prepared.

The dark splotches at the edges of his vision start to encroach ever farther, ever closer. Merlin ignores it. He tries to ignore it.

Where's the attack? The swordsmen, the creature, the spirit? Maybe it's a trap. It's starting to feel like a trap. Everything feels like a trap.

The more unsettled and restless Merlin becomes, the louder everything around him becomes.

Where's the attack?

There's a rustle of leaves—a monstrous sound. And Merlin spins, searching. Searching, searching, searching, bracing. There's nothing. Merlin can't stop moving his hands and fingers and feet.

They should definitely be attacked soon. Or maybe the attack was on the other group—the one Merlin abandoned. Oh, he's failed them. He's doomed them. Stole Elyan from them and left them to defend themselves when half of them are no more than servants who have never wielded a blade outside a kitchen knife. He should go back. Right? He should definitely go back.

Merlin turns his horse.

Elyan crashes to a halt. "What are you doing?" he hisses, head scraping Merlin's across vision as it tilts.

"I…don't know." Merlin turns back around and keeps going.

The forest is calm and Merlin doesn't like it. The forest is never calm. Never empty like this.

Merlin's ribs hurt. Every hoofbeat jars them. They jar his head too. And his legs and arms are sore. Merlin barely notices. Merlin doesn't notice. Pain doesn't hinder him. Shouldn't hinder him. Can't hinder him.

They cross into Nemeth before night falls. Gedref is close.

Merlin will be punished when he gets back to Camelot. Should be punished. For screwing up like this. For abandoning everything and everyone and stealing Elyan and a horse and all these supplies. But not coming was killing him.

The air is thick in the forest. It's thick in the castle, too. Thick everywhere. It winds around Merlin's throat and swallows his words. As coarse as rope. The air is thick, the sky is dark, the wind is screaming.

Gedref is close. They'll be there soon.

Merlin loses his focus. He is restless. He needs to do something and he's not sure what but whatever he's currently doing is not enough. He adjusts his form again, settling his weight to one side and then rolling it back to the other one.

Merlin loses his focus. And for some reason the world is against him so of course that's when Elyan chooses to pull up beside him.

"We've reached Gedref," Elyan's rattling voice is venom through Merlin's eardrums.

"Right, good, yeah."

"You know where the castle is?"

It hurts being so close to him. Merlin closes his eyes and tilts away. He fiddles with his saddle bag. "I have a map…" A servant is always prepared. Over-prepared. Ready for all eventualities.

Elyan nods and pulls back and Merlin can breathe again.

The castle is close. They'll be there soon.


	12. Chapter 12

They can't find the body or ashes or whatever. Elyan's not sure how they're meant to.

This castle seems liable to fall apart. Crumbling at the corners, dust caked over every surface, rats scratching across the floors. Merlin keeps flinching into the walls.

And then Merlin stops, straight and still and silent, eyes fixed on a brick wall.

"Merlin?"

"Do you feel that?" Merlin doesn't move. Just stares at the dead end turn off.

Elyan follows his gaze but there's nothing there. "Feel what?"

Merlin's eyebrows pinch. His head tilts. "You can hear that, right?"

All Elyan can hear is the scratching of rats and the howl of wind.

Merlin steps toward the wall, arm raised.

"Merlin?"

"I think he's here." Merlin's hand presses against the bricks.

"Okay," says Elyan, not knowing what else to say. "Behind the wall?"

"Through the wall."

"Right, um… stand back." Elyan puts out a hand to guide Merlin back but Merlin wrenches away from it. "Right," says Elyan, hand falling. He wraps his fingers around the hilt of his sword but feels a sudden reluctance to pull it. He scans the ground instead and picks up a metal vase that he then slams into the wall.

Merlin jerks back a few feet. An entire hallway, actually. Elyan loses sight of him.

Elyan breaks the wall open. Just a small hole at first and then he reaches his arm in and starts pulling the crumbling bricks apart. There's a tunnel here, he can feel the breeze. Elyan makes the hole large enough for he and Merlin to fit through. He turns to find the man, asking, "Do you want to go first?" but Merlin is gone. Around the corner, maybe.

Elyan's hand finds the hilt of his sword as he approaches the place he last saw Merlin. He's stopped by a voice behind him.

"So nice of you to visit." Morgana's voice.

Elyan turns, sword drawing from its sheath with a sharp scrape.

"But I can't let you find the king's remains."

Elyan gets blasted into a wall.

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Sir Quinn has kept the others riding at a steady pace. They reach the castle in Gedref near midday.

The corridors are lit with patches of sunlight. They are narrow and short and Quinn wonders if they passed through the servant's entrance instead of the main door.

They turn another corner and there's a form at the end of the passageway. "Merlin," Quinn calls.

Merlin turns, but he's tilting away. "Yes?"

"Where's Elyan?" Elyan went with Merlin, told Quinn himself, so he should be here.

Merlin shakes his head, eyes wary.

Quinn continues his approach, the others behind him.

"You didn't split up?" Someone asks. Susie.

"Go back," Merlin says, and takes a few steps back as they come closer. "Morgana is here."

Susie straightens. "Now without what we came for."

But Quinn angles his head and whispers, "Perhaps you should go back."

"Merlin," that's George, "Did you find the remains?"

"I think they're in a tunnel. I'll find them. I think you should go back."

"We can't go back," someone murmurs. "There's nothing to go back to. Not unless we fix this."

The kind features of Quinn's wife, and the happy face of his children, distorted by fear, flash through his mind. Nothing to go back to. Sounds about right.

Merlin hesitates, Quinn can see it in the flick of his eyes from them to the ground and back, see it in the bobbing of his throat. "Right," Merlin finally says. "I'll distract her. You reunite the remains." Merlin jolts a few steps, then rounds a corner and disappears.

"Merlin, wait!" Quinn races after him, Susie and George on his tail.

Merlin is fast. They follow him for a few halls before he disappears at a branch of passages.

Susie's head pulls to one side, face and stance calm. "I've always favored the left," she says.

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Merlin feels guilty about losing them. He's too terrified of Morgana to really worry much about it. The fear falls as venom in his limbs as he bolts toward her. He slows the closer he gets, he can't help it. Arthur is a dragon and Morgana is a wyvern. Merlin only saw a glimpse, but it was enough. It propelled him away. Away from Elyan.

But this time he's prepared for it, right? Right.

He turns another corner. Morgana is there, facing away from him, wreathed in dark trails of smoke, trailing out like wings from her arms. Wyvern's never really listen to Merlin so it seems fitting for Morgana to be one.

Power is pulsing through Morgana's shadowed veins, dark and loud and terrifying.

"Morgana." Merlin's voice only comes out as a whisper. He tries again, fighting through the wailing agony of his voice. "Morgana."

She turns, wings misting around her, slicing through Merlin's skull. She is tall and proud and sharp with darkness.

"Merlin." Her voice crackles like a roar of flame against his skin.

"Remember that time I poisoned you?" The words are pressing at Merlin's mind and finding his tongue. The guilt, the shame, the wrongness of it. He deserves to be punished. "Shame you never got justice against me for that."

Morgana is lightning spritzing toward him, teeth and wings and the roaring scratch of sharp claws, stabbing into Merlin's chest.

Merlin turns and runs.


	13. Chapter 13

It's sad, George thinks, that the curse killed this castle first. A moment of grief pulls at his feet even as he lifts the torch higher. The remains are in a tunnel, that's all he knows. All anyone knows. They told the others and now everyone is divided into small groups sifting through debris and dust and shoving at the hope that's waiting to be let in.

A tunnel should be smaller than a corridor, without windows or doors; a void into darkness. George is looking up at the walls, squinting, searching, carefully holding his hope at bay. His feet trip on something too soft to be brick or stone or iron. His gaze falls. It's Sir Elyan.

George bends down, carefully holding the torch away so it won't do any damage, all too aware of it. He nudges Elyan's arm. There is no blood and George is hopeful—almost hopeful. "Sir Elyan?"

Elyan shifts, head twisting, arms moving out to the side. His eyes roll open.

"Sir Elyan?"

Elyan rises like a man worn with age, bones groaning. "George?"

"Yes, Sir Elyan. Are you well?"

Elyan nods, rising further, taller, straighter. "Merlin?" he asks.

George has never been at such a loss for words. It's sad, because he's never felt so obligated to answer, except perhaps when it was his king asking.

Elyan turns when he doesn't respond. "George?"

Shame rolls through him. He is inadequate. George bows his head. "Merlin is as foolish as always, my lord."

"What's he done?"

"He has bought us time, Sir Elyan. He has bought us time."

Elyan's gaze scans across walls. There is a void down at the other end. "Do you have the stone?"

"I believe Sir Quinn does." He knows Sir Quinn does, actually, but a sliver of doubt is curling in George's mind because it's impossible to be sure, surely. The knight might have lost it—no, it's wrong of George to guess that. Sir Quinn might have… well, he might not have it, that's all. There's always a chance and George would rather not lie. George can't lie. Can't bear the possibility of being dishonest to a knight of the round table because doubt is flooding through him.

"And where is Quinn?"

George points back the way he came from and when Sir Elyan brushes past, George follows.

The corridors become a labyrinth the longer they're in them.

"Merlin bought us time?" There is something in Sir Elyan's voice that George wants to place as grief or fear, but can't.

George nods. "Yes, my lord."

"With what?" The knight asks.

"Feet as fast as horse's hooves. He is leading the lady Morgana on a chase."

Elyan's head bows a fraction. George is pressed with the need to reassure and at the same time he knows it is not his place.

He reassures anyway. "No one is as fast as Merlin. If anyone can outrun the wrath of a witch, it's him. I'm sure of it." There is no room for doubt.

* * *

Elyan's pace increases the longer it takes to find Quinn. He and George are sprinting now. They find Susie first. Susie finds Quinn. And if her eyes flick gold in the darkness, it is only because the fire of the torch flared across them.

The tunnel is dirt and damp and darkness, stretching for what feels like miles before it opens into a small room. A crypt. There is a skeleton lying a stone table, a crown where its head should be. Quinn walks reverently forward, steps harried with a desperate almost-hope. He places the stone box in the circle of the crown. The lid flies off and the box tips over, ashes spilling onto the table, crawling from the box and rising and twisting and solidifying into a skull, shoving underneath the crown to reclaim the body.

And then it all stills. And the air hasn't changed, there was no flash of light or burst of wind. But somehow, hope solidifies as well.

* * *

Merlin should have been expecting it, really. He should have been prepared for it. A servant is prepared. He was woefully unprepared.

Merlin crashed into Osric. Sir Osric. With enough force that Merlin ended up sprawled on the ground, hands and legs moving as he scrambles to get back up. Osric's form slams into him. A mountain of curling smoke and sharp claws. Merlin flicks his gaze up as hands wrap around his neck.

Lord Osric is a serket. Stinging and bitter and fatal if he gets too close. His hands are vices around Merlin's throat, scathing against his skin and crushing to everything beneath it. Merlin can't breathe. Can't scream.

Morgana comes soaring powerful and terrible through the trees and Merlin isn't sure he's going to make it home from this one.

And then the world goes quiet. Calm. And Sir Osric skitters back.

Merlin breathes. The air is fresh instead of sharp and thin. He can breathe again. Merlin's lungs fill with the silence. He can think again. Thoughts as deep and cool and unmovable as an ocean of water. Merlin is Merlin again. Merlin is Emrys again. And he is sad instead of scared. Sad for what Morgana has become. For what he pushed her to become.

Merlin finds his feet with a grace he'd forgotten, heavy with sorrow but tall with purpose. "It's over, Morgana. The curse is lifted."

"No," Morgana hisses, but the hiss is that of a bitter little girl and not that of a wyvern.

"It's over."

"For you it is." Morgana's hand rises, eyes glowing as she chants. And then Osric slams into her and her head cracks against a tree and she falls.

Merlin breathes.


	14. Chapter 14

The others find Merlin and Osric and then they are a trail of people making for Camelot.

Merlin is subdued the same way he always is after things like this. He walks as though he's deep in thought or grief, as though he's not quite sure why he's making the journey back. He goes through the motions of walking when they dismount to give the horses a rest—feet lifting, arms swinging—but his head stays motionless; trained on the dirt just before his boots. If he weren't with a group, he might wander off without realizing, following his feet with no mind for where they lead him.

Merlin isn't reigning in his limbs anymore, but they're dragging. His smile hasn't returned.

And when they stop to make camp for the night, he sits slumped and still and in his eyes is a shadow; a sorrow as great as mountains. That's what Merlin looks like, actually. A mountain. Stuck in place because the weight of all that rock is far too heavy to lift, bending his back and bowing his head and pulling him toward the ground.

It might be construed as tiredness, if tired Merlin was not so well-known. He is scatterbrained when tired; swaying and muttering things that only he finds funny. He is a stumbling pendulum of shrugs when he is tired. Things roll off him with every imbalanced tilt of drowsy legs because he is beyond caring when he is tired.

The mountain staring solemnly at the fire is not Merlin tired. Not in the physical sense, anyway.

And when Osric marches up to Merlin and glares down, Merlin is too lost—in thought, perhaps, or perhaps simply lost—to pay him any mind.

Osric growls, "Do not mistake my loyalty to the king for tolerance of you."

If Merlin were a mountain, there would be a slide of rocks down his shoulders, making his weighted form a little less tall.

No one is quite sure where Osric appeared from, whether he was freed from the dungeons or broke free himself. There were whispers, of course, always whispers, until Merlin shook his head and bade them quietly to stop.

But when Elyan glances over to Osric towering over Merlin and bids Osric 'stop', he doesn't.

Osric keeps talking. "You're even worse now. Sitting there like a sack of rotted grain while the other servants do their jobs, while the knights keep us fed. What are you doing, Merlin? Nothing, that's what. And you are doing nothing because you are nothi—"

Elyan has moved. He's just suddenly there, grabbing Osric's arm and forcing him back a step. "I said, 'stop.'"

Merlin's form is motionless, staring through the fire. "He's fine, Elyan, leave him be."

Osric tugs his arm from Elyan's grasp with a huff.

Elyan looks tired. He falls his way down to sit beside Merlin, staring at the ground just before Osric's boots, braced like a snake or cat waiting to strike at the slightest movement.

Osric hesitates a moment before walks away, something in his form whispering of disappointment or regret.

* * *

Everything is still in sharp focus, but it's a different sort of focus than it was before. The focus of things instead of people—well, of people too, but Merlin's mind is no longer so attuned to them. It is attuned to the detail of their clothes and appearance and not to the shifts and movements of their frames.

The bright red of Elyan's cloak, the fraying at the hem of George's tunic, the glare sparking off Quinn's sword, the way the wind brushes through the leaves on the trees. There is a chill in the air, sharp and thin. Horses are clopping beside them. Merlin is being flooded with detail.

So he watches the ground and lets his mind wander, stabbing from thought to thought in a never-ending progression of brutal logic.

Merlin still feels as though all this is his fault. Curse or no curse, nothing changes that. He has let people down again, and he is weary of it. Magical things are his domain. No one else has the tools to deal with them.

It's not until Elyan throws him an apple and pulls him from his reverie that Merlin realizes he hasn't eaten. Merlin isn't hungry. He waits until they stop for a break and then feeds the apple to his horse when Elyan isn't looking.

They meet a patrol from Camelot a day out. Leon and Percival and a handful of others. The air around them is thick with something Merlin cannot pin down. Something he tries to draw his thoughts away from by focusing on the sway of the saddle and the horse beneath him and nothing else.

Leon draws up beside him. "Are you alright, Merlin?"

Merlin bobs up and down with his horse—Grey, her name is. "Yeah. How's Camelot?"

"Improving," Leon says. That's all he says.

And when they get back, Merlin manages to undo the spells he cast on himself, with Gaius's help, of course, but in the end it's not as fruitful as Merlin had hoped it would be. Wrongness makes its home curled about behind his ribs.

* * *

Camelot might as well be in the aftermath of a tornado. It keeps everyone busy though. Keeps Merlin busy. Leon hardly catches a glimpse of him for three days. And when he finally runs into him and Merlin's eyes flick over him, Merlin shifts minutely backwards, head falling. And then a moment later Merlin looks up again and his shoulders lose their tension. "Oh, sorry, it's just with that hair and shirt, you looked like Osric for a second."

Leon frowns. "Is he still here?"

Merlin nods. He has an armful of clothing and makes to go around Leon. "We're still sorting out who goes where and which jobs everyone's supposed to have, and sending him back out to his lands sort of got lost in the shuffle, you know? I don't think he fancies going home. Better food here, I suppose." Merlin keeps getting blocked by Leon and others, trying to pass through the hall, "Anyway, I should…" he lifts the clothes in his arms up a little.

"Right," says Leon, but as Merlin slips past and starts to disappear, Leon can't help but feel as though something is wrong. Maybe it's the way Merlin was favoring one arm. Maybe the dirt caked across his right side and the clothing in his arms that makes it look like he was on the ground at one point. Maybe the relief in the smile when he realized it was Leon and not Osric.

Leon goes after him for a few steps before he stops. Leon has a hundred duties to attend to. He doesn't feel right abandoning them.

That's why he enlists Gwaine to follow Merlin instead.

* * *

Gwaine doesn't follow Merlin so much as tag along and help him out all day, chattering mindlessly all the while.

Merlin snaps back after things like this, always has. Nothing gets him down for long.

He's not snapping back. He's slipping away. Quieter than he should be, more serious and less teasing. Gwaine can see him slipping away like the memories of what his mother told him about his father. Merlin is there, just below the surface, but fading more and more into a solemn shade of what he should be.

Gwaine enlists Arthur.

* * *

Arthur can't figure out what's wrong. He tries to goad Merlin into bantering with him, "Honestly, Merlin, do you even know how to fold clothes?"

All it does is make Merlin's smile fall that much faster. He starts refolding. "Sorry, sire."

"Since when do you call me sire?"

"Sorry, prat," Merlin corrects, not looking up, "should've realized your delicate self would be worried about a few wrinkles."

Arthur smiles. There we go. "So what happened to your arm then?"

"What?"

Arthur bobs his head. "Your arm. You're taking three times as long as usual to hang my shirts because you're not lifting your left elbow higher than your chest. What happened to it?"

"Fell," Merlin says.

Arthur hums. "Wouldn't have anything to do with Osric, would it? He's leaving tomorrow, you know."

"I know." Merlin keeps folding.

Osric leaves but nothing changes.


	15. Chapter 15

_A/N: I like metaphors too much. Also I hope this is an okay ending and that I didn't leave too many loose ends._

* * *

_Your enemies are my enemies._ That's what Percival said to Arthur, before he grew to know him. Simple as that. Back when the world was simple.

Nowadays Camelot seems to be sitting beneath an ever-looming storm. Some moments, the clouds are dark above them and the air is heavy with the threat of rain. Some moments, they are drowning in it.

Merlin doesn't seem to mind the rain. Oh, he complains about the mud and the cleaning and the cold, but the rain runs off him. And in his countenance is a glimpse of bluer skies.

_Your enemies are my enemies._ Simple.

Merlin doesn't seem to have any enemies.

There is Morgana, certainly, but even with her you can tell that he doesn't see her as an enemy so much as a regret. A friend grown away. They used to be friends. It's in Gwen and Arthur too.

And it doesn't feel as though Morgana is Merlin's enemy so much as Arthur's enemy. Merlin just sort of shoved in between.

And that's it, isn't it? The glimpse of blue skies. Merlin shoves himself between you and the rain and then uses the runoff to water the crops. He's a strange man, Merlin. Shadowed but bright. Like all the dark clouds are drawn toward him, looming above him, and it's granting light to everyone nearby.

_Your enemies are my enemies._ Merlin has no enemies and yet somehow has far too many.

And Percival is standing in the market beside Gwen and Elyan with the sun glaring down, following with his eyes a man that he remembers Merlin cowering in front of back when the curse had yet to fall into knowledge, unsure if he is Merlin's enemy.

He is sure, however, that if this man is Merlin's enemy, he is Percival's also.

Percival doesn't realize he's glaring, hand on his sword hilt, until Gwen follows his gaze and frowns. "I know that man."

Percival's gaze doesn't move. "Hmm?"

"I've seen him before…in Ealdor."

Elyan looks at her. "That's where Merlin is from, isn't it?"

Gwen nods. "I wonder what he's doing here. Moved, maybe?"

"Picked a bad time for it."

Percival can't stop hoping that the man is an enemy, because that's all Percival knows how to do, really; take on enemies. The air is heavy with the feeling that this will not be that simple.

* * *

Gwen goes up to talk to him. The man.

The next thing she does is find Merlin, standing in the courtyard, and somehow he can tell that she knows.

Gwen gets the feeling that Merlin is standing on a shorefront, water tugging at his legs and threatening to pull him under.

Merlin doesn't turn. "I was just..." He's not talking about right now.

Salt water splashes at his eyes.

"_It was so loud_." His voice is a breeze crashing against cliff-faces. Merlin isn't looking at her. Isn't looking at anything, really. "I couldn't go." Ripples branch out around him but Merlin is unmoving. "He told me she was dead and I couldn't even..." His hand rises and then falls, and something else falls with it. "I couldn't even go say goodbye. Gather her things. And not because I had something more important or... but because I just couldn't. Everything was screaming at me."

Gwen stands on the shorefront with him and listens.

"And it got shoved to the back of my mind and buried. I didn't even remember until we got back to Camelot." The waves crash. "I didn't even remember."

Gwen sets a hand on his shoulder. An anchor.

"But we got back and it sunk in and it sunk in _deep_." Merlin sways back and forth and back and forth before he slips downward, frame like a rock; cold and hard and heavy and small. "She's dead, Gwen. My mother is dead."

Gwen slips down beside him. She sits just brushing his shoulder, fixing her gown and nudging his arm and the words break forward in a flood. "When my father died, it felt a little bit like drowning. There was this tightness in my chest, this wrongness. And I kept waiting for him to come back because there was so much I had to say and I didn't get the chance to say it. Because he tried to escape and they killed him. And it was my fault, Merlin, that he was working with that man. He wanted to make a better life for us. For me. And when I got the chance I sat in my house for two days wondering what I'd done to make everything turn out like that. Wondering how he ever could have doubted that I was happy there, with him. Elyan was off god knows where and my father was gone and I had to sit in that empty house and stop myself from opening the door when someone walked by because my mind kept telling me it was him.

"He was supposed to live to be an old man, sitting around the fire telling stories to my children and he never got the chance. And I couldn't breathe because the house still smelled of him, and I was waiting and waiting and I didn't know what for. I'm still waiting. But he's up there somewhere, Merlin, and he wants me to be happy. And I want to sit by the fire with my children and tell them everything about him. How kind he was, how strong. I want them to have every detail; the feel of calluses when his hand held mine, the feel of frustration when he laughed as he was teasing me. And I think they will know him. They will know him in Elyan, who has the very same hands. They will know him in me, because I make the same foolish mistakes. Merlin, just because your mother isn't here anymore, it doesn't mean you have to say goodbye. Let her live, and love her, and know how proud she was of you." Gwen nudges his arm. "And you can still get her things, you know, I spoke to Eadric. It's there. Waiting for you."

* * *

Arthur can't go with him. Wants to, means to, but can't. Camelot needs the king to stay. It needs Merlin too, but Merlin needs to go. Gaius goes. And Gwen and Gwaine and Arthur has to trust that they'll be enough to bring Merlin back. The Merlin that Arthur hasn't seen in far too long.

And they do come back, and Merlin comes in mid-meeting to take his place behind Arthur and Arthur sort of slams through to the end in less than a minute. The council trails out and Arthur shoves to his feet and turns around, looking Merlin over. "Alright, Merlin?"

"Yeah," Merlin nods, a smile finding his face and settling in to stay, one that promises of bluer skies and calmer seas. "Yeah, I'm alright."


End file.
